


Though I May Not Look Like Much (I'm Yours)

by denorios



Series: Open Your Eyes (And Realize We Are One) [2]
Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-11
Updated: 2010-07-11
Packaged: 2017-10-10 12:16:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/denorios/pseuds/denorios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Epic Vin angst. Companion piece to 'Open Your Eyes (And Realize We Are One)'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Though I May Not Look Like Much (I'm Yours)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks be to my wonderful awesome beta farad.

His hands were shaking.

The scene has worn a groove in Vin's tired mind, playing over and over again until he can see it even when his eyes are open. Chris on the ground at his feet, bleeding and broken; Handsome Jack lying cold and still, Vin's bullet in his chest a payment for the one in Chris; and Ella disappearing over the crest of the hill. Always Ella, riding away, an open target, a shot he could make nine times out of ten, a shot he could make in the dark, half-asleep, with one hand tied behind his back.

Even now he can see it; even now as he lies on the rough ground, fighting to stay awake, to stay alive, even as his own blood slowly leaks out of the ragged hole in his chest to pool underneath him, feeling like the only warmth in the world; even now he can see Ella disappearing over that hill, can feel the gun in his hand, the recoil as he fires, the waft of smoke against his face and the agony of knowing that he missed because he couldn't stop his hands shaking. Because of Chris.

Vin has never thought Chris was invulnerable, never believed that anyone could walk through a hail of bullets and emerge unscathed, not even Chris, though the man seemed to want to try and prove it on a daily basis. But he's seen Chris walk through fire and come out the other side; he's seen him rise from blows that would fell a lesser man; he's seen him pick himself up, dust himself off and smile that shit-eating grin so many times that somehow it has become one of the mainstays of Vin's existence. Other men get shot, other men fall, other men bleed, but not Chris. Never Chris.

And now that prop has been removed and the centre is falling. Chris is lying in Nathan's clinic, pale and silent. Each day he draws breath is a miracle, but each breath feels like a castigation to Vin, a reminder of how he has failed Chris when he needed him most.

He stayed until Nathan assured him that Chris would pull through, a quiet ghost hovering at the side of the bed, hand floating over Chris' hair, his cheek, his arm, his shoulder, but never daring to touch. He stayed until he knew Chris would live and then he slipped out, unnoticed and unheralded.

He doesn't want to be there when Chris opens his eyes, doesn't want to see the blame and the recrimination and the loss of trust, doesn't want to hear the inevitable 'how did you miss?' It's his own penance, self-imposed - he will never look on Chris' face again until he can bring Ella to him, dead or alive.

Buck tried to stop him. He rested a heavy hand on Vin's shoulder as he stood by his wagon that first evening, packing rations into a saddle bag, gulping in the fresh air and willing his legs to stop trembling. "It ain't your fault," he told Vin. "She fooled us all. We'll find her, we won't stop until we find her. But it ain't your fault, Vin. Don't do this to yourself. Chris wouldn't want you to do this."

Vin turned on Buck sharply, hot words spilling out in a rush before he could bite them back. "Like hell, Buck! You know as well as I do the first words outta his mouth when he wakes up gonna be Ella damn Gaines." Buck blinked but said nothing, his silence all the agreement Vin needed. "This is Chris we're talkin' here. I ain't gonna be the one standin' there sayin' we just stood about and did nothin' as she got away. I shoulda shot her and I let her get away. I ain't gonna make that mistake twice."

He was miles away before they even realized he was gone and he knew they'd never find him. He was careful to leave no trail behind for them to follow, and without Vin as tracker they rode around for hours, following every stray hoof print and pockmark for miles, until one-by-one they gave up and drifted back to town, back to the strained vigil at Chris' bedside.

Vin rode for days, for miles, going from town to town, looking for Handsome Jack's men, for Ella, for any sign or clue, but there was nothing. She's like a tornado, he thought once as another lead came to nothing, just dropping down out of a clear sky, destroying everything she touches, shattering bonds and bone, and then just melting back into dust and air. How do you find something made of nothing?

He hadn't trusted her, not from the moment he met her, and not just for the smile she put on Chris' face and the spring in his step. It hurt to see Chris so happy, to see him turn away from Vin to Ella. He told himself over and over it was just jealousy, this mistrust, just because he feared her power over Chris; but when Chris stood there and told them he was staying, Vin could have killed her there and then. He wishes he had.

He never thought he had much of a heart to break, but it had broken anyway, right there in that moment when he told Chris the truth and seen not one flicker of friendship in those green eyes, not one ounce of trust or belief. It was like looking in the eyes of a stranger, except Chris had never been a stranger to him, not even on that very first day when their eyes locked and held across that dusty street.

He'll never regret a moment of it though, even if Chris never forgives him, never again speaks a word to him or casts a glance in his direction. If he never finds Ella, if all he can present to Chris in recompense is this, his blood spilling out beneath him, his body worn thin through exertion and strain, his cracked heart and weary soul, it's a price he'll pay gladly, unthinkingly.

And if he has to die - and the prospect is looking ever more likely, as long as he stays lying on the cold hard ground miles from Four Corners and his friends and Chris - at least it's not a hanging. Chris always said he'd never let Vin hang. Even shot and unconscious, he's keeping his word.

Vin grates out a laugh at the thought, but in the still air it's more sob than laughter, and the blood bubbling at the back of his throat makes him cough and strangle. He wants Chris. The thought of dying doesn't frighten him, but he wants to see Chris before he dies, wants to tell him all the words he's held back for so long. He's lied long enough, lied about who he is, what he wants, lied to himself and lied to Chris. He loves Chris. Chris has lost enough in his life, he should know before Vin dies that Sarah wasn't the only one who loved him, who has died for him.

Vin has never felt so connected to Chris as in this moment, with his body growing cold and stiff, his vision blurring and fading and the hole in his chest part of a matching set to the one in Chris. He feels as though he only has to close his eyes and Chris will be there in front of him, blonde hair turning gold in the sun, eyes bright and smiling, his hand extended to clasp Vin's arm.

"Chris," he chokes and reaches out.

***

Death feels like a dream. There's only the vague semblance of pain, a memory in his chest that could be a bullet wound or a broken heart, and he feels safe and warm. He feels loved. There are strong arms wrapped around him, holding him up, cradling him, protecting him, and Vin smiles. Chris.

But it can't be Chris; Chris isn't dead and how can he be here if he isn't dead? And he's on horseback, but he fell from Peso, didn't he? He remembers falling, remembers the explosive shock as he hit the ground, as the breath exploded from his body and the blood ran. He remembers the cold ground, the damp moisture seeping into his bones and chilling him from the inside out, the slow numbness that started in his chest and spread to his arms and legs.

He remembers the pain, and it returns suddenly, a blinding flash of agony that makes him scream but his voice is only a whisper and there's no-one to hear. He can't move, can't speak, can't even open his eyes, if he even has eyes in death, and he wants Chris. He wants Chris so badly. Somehow he always thought they would greet death together, and he's afraid to go into that darkness alone.

But then the pain is gone as suddenly as it came, only to be replaced with a slow creeping darkness that steals his breath and clutches at his heart. There's a hand in his hair now and a voice in his ears, and he knows that voice. Out of the darkness Chris calls and Vin surrenders gladly to him.

He didn't know death would be so strange.

***

The pain is the first indication that perhaps he's not dead after all. Vin seems to crash back into his own body with a jolt, awareness flaring hot and brilliant along his nerves, overwhelming his senses to the point where he longs for death to come back and claim him. He tries to moan, tries to move, but his eyes won't open and his hand is pinned beneath something warm and soft. He reaches for oblivion, willing it to return, to blanket him in soft darkness, but it's receding behind him, and the light behind his eyelids is bright and harsh.

He moans again, or tries to, tries to call Chris to come back from the darkness. 'Don't leave me', he whispers soundlessly. 'Don't go.' He can still feel him, that air of security and comfort that always envelops him when Chris is near; can almost smell the scent of hay and wood smoke that he always associates with Chris.

"Hey, pard," Chris whispers, and Vin almost sobs with relief. He's still here. Chris hasn't left him to face the light and the pain alone.

"Welcome back," he continues, and if Vin could move he would frown. Back? He hasn't been anywhere, has he? Isn't he still dying alone on the range? He struggles to open his eyes; he can feel them now, damp and gummy at the corners, and he would never have thought eyelids could be so heavy. He's fought men twice his size with less effort than it takes to crack his eyes open, but the sight that greets him is worth it.

And now Vin knows he's not dead, because not even death could look as bad as Chris does. His face is pale and lined, his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, cheeks sallow and sunken; his hair is sticking up in all directions and he looks as though he hasn't had a bath or a good night's sleep in a month. But he's smiling, a smile so wide and joyous that it hurts Vin's heart just to look at him.

"Vin," Chris breathes as their eyes meet. "Hey." He blinks rapidly and Vin can see moisture pooling in the corner of his eyes. He wants to turn his hand over, his palm to Chris' palm, wants to bring that hand to his mouth, wants to rise up and smooth away those unshed tears, but he can't move and he's such a coward.

Chris doesn't know. Vin closes his eyes for a moment, steeling himself to deliver the news, to tell Chris how he failed him yet again. He needs to know. Chris is smiling now but he won't be when he hears how Ella managed to elude him, how she was always one step ahead of him, how he came so close to finding her only to be shot down by the brother of a man he sent to Yuma four years ago. Chris won't smile when he realizes Vin's own past has destroyed his best chance of catching Ella.

"I didn'..." He starts to speak but his mouth is dry and the words won't come. Chris leans forward, curling his warm palm around the back of Vin's head and lifting gently, helping him pull feebly at the mug of cool water in his hand. Even that small motion hurts and Vin whimpers slightly as Chris settles him back against the pillow, as much from the loss of contact as the pain.

But then Chris moves back into him, running his fingers gently through Vin's hair before rubbing his thumb lightly across Vin's eyebrow, across his temple and down to his cheekbone. Vin wants to push his face into that caress, wants to close his eyes and purr like a cat, but his body rebels and he can barely turn his head towards Chris.

"I didn' git her," he says, closing his eyes so he won't have to see that smile disappear, see the eyebrows come down and the storm clouds gather in Chris' eyes. He can't bear to see the loss of that warmth and tenderness he awoke to. "I'm sorry."

Chris' thumb freezes and Vin waits, waits for the cold and the fury, waits for Chris to pull back, pull away. Chris can never blame him as much as he blames himself, and whatever rage he unleashes Vin will take, will take upon himself, into himself and never once consider it undeserved. He missed. He should never have missed.

Chris makes a choking sound, a hitching strangled sob, and Vin waits.

"Oh no," Chris chokes and there's so much pain in his voice that Vin can't bear it, wishes he were back on that lonely plain, cold and dead. Even death would be preferable to this. He can't listen to Chris, he can't do it, it's too much.

"No, Vin, no," Chris says again. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing, you hear me?"

It's so far from what Vin was expecting to hear that for a moment he can only open his eyes and stare at Chris in frozen, baffled silence. Chris' face is open and earnest in a way Vin has never seen before. There's no a trace of anger, no hint of rage or blame, no yearning for revenge or retribution. He looks like a different man, not like the Chris Vin knows or the stranger who stood before him in Ella Gaines' house. Vin wonders if this is what Chris looked like when he was with Sarah, young and open and honest.

He tries to reach for Chris; he needs to touch him, needs to assure himself that he's not dead, not dying or dreaming, but he's so weak and his fingers just brush lightly against Chris' wrist. Chris takes his hand, presses it against his own arm, his own fingers curling around Vin's. His skin beneath his fingers is warm and soft and real, and Vin doesn't understand.

"But...Ella...", he croaks, gazing up at Chris in confusion. He has never known anyone to look on him with love before and he's not sure he knows how to recognize it. How can Chris be saying these things? Chris, the man who as long as Vin has known him has scarcely had any thoughts beyond the quest to find who murdered his family; the man who lay at Vin's feet bleeding and wounded and still only thought of Ella Gaines; the man who would have turned his back and let Vin ride away without a second glance. How can this be real?

But Chris is shaking his head and his eyes lock onto Vin's, fierce and brilliant with unshed tears. "No," he says again firmly. His voice has gone husky and deep, and Vin is filled with the overwhelming desire to press his ear against Chris' chest and listen to that beloved voice rumble deep inside. "You think I care about her if it means I gotta lose you?" He shakes his head again. "I don't care. Forget her, Vin. I'm trying to. It's not gonna bring Sarah and Adam back and I don't want to lose you too."

He wants to tell Chris he won't, he can't, he could never lose Vin. Even when he tried to leave, when his heart told him that Chris had chosen Ella, that he would never choose Vin, would never feel what Vin feels; even then he had been drawn back, drawn by a tightness in his chest and an ache in his heart, and he knows, as surely as he knows he's a Tanner, that he had come back to save Chris, save him from himself if need be.

'I'm yours,' he wants to tell Chris. 'I've always been yours. Even if you don't want me I'm still yours.' But his throat is so tight and dry he can only blink helplessly at Chris, can only reach to grip his arm in their own private handshake and hope that Chris understands.

He should have known he wouldn't need words with Chris. Chris bows his head for a moment, his shoulders heaving, and then he slides his own arm along Vin's, clasping it gently just below the elbow. He leans in to Vin, his other hand rising to cradle the nape of Vin's neck, lifting so gently and pressing his forehead against Vin's. Chris' eyes slide shut, but Vin keeps looking, his vision filled with Chris and only Chris. It's all he's ever seen.

"You and me," Chris whispers, so close Vin can feel the warm dampness of his breath against his face. "Always, Vin. I swear it."

He's slipping away now, he can feel unconsciousness gathering behind his eyes and he fights it as long as he can. He wants to hold on to this moment, afraid to wake and find it all a dream, or worse, not wake at all. He fights to keep his eyes open but they're flickering shut and the darkness is swelling. The last thing he remembers is the feel of Chris stroking the hair back from his forehead, warm lips bestowing a soft kiss on his temple and a whispered voice saying words he never thought he'd live to hear.

When he wakes up he'll say them back to Chris.


End file.
